


Sour Confessions

by IZZYCHAN13



Series: Candy-Coated Heart of Darkness [2]
Category: Wreck-It Ralph (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 08:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15770184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IZZYCHAN13/pseuds/IZZYCHAN13
Summary: Sour Bill's POV on King Candy's / Turbo's growing obsession with the young raven-haired racer at heart... (Originally published on deviantART in August 2014. Based around the "Candy-Coated Heart of Darkness" comic AU)





	Sour Confessions

My first task was to hand the girl her change of clothes.

I guess we both weren’t aware that the plan to delete her code would fail—

Nor did he expect that there would be a wardrobe malfunction on the young racer’s part.

“Don’t come in, whoever you are! _I’m not—!_ ”

By sheer luck the King took the hint and never opened the door. Letting go of the knob looking a tad flustered, “I understhand.”

Hissing a whisper at me, “She wasthn’t thupposed to be alive, Thour Bill. Thisth, isth a big problem.”

I raise a brow in question. I wish I knew the point to his severe actions, but as hard as I try I get nothing—a void of memory.

 

The ex-racer receives the small pile of clothing and looks me over in curiosity, still gripping tightly at the only covering she could find in short notice, a crisp white bedsheet.

“Thank you…?” Her mouth stays open trying to give me a name. I can’t be rude, so I fill in the blank,

“Sour Bill. You’re welcome.”

 

I don’t understand why I’m working here—living here. Taking orders from a manic depressive—

Abusive.

I’ll be honest and admit that I think a lot more than what I say. Talking is a distraction to processing the world around you. I do have an advantage, but it haunts me at times. Once you start pairing up deep observation with actual emotional investment, it will take a toll, as it did to me.

 

“Oh! That _glitch!_ ” I nearly ran to keep up with his wide strides away from the source of his troubles. I look back for a second seeing her with arms across her chest in defiance.

On our way to his bedroom he throws off his immense decorative collar, bowtie, coat and vest; I’m there to catch all the garments. The fabrics block my eyesight but the angered grunts I’m hearing from the owner humor me for the moment.

 

.. It would have been smarter to leave Vanellope to fend for herself. King Candy didn’t have to get involved. He wanted to kill her, after all.

Perhaps, he wasn’t so heartless.

I saw this concern as she was being verbally attacked and harassed by the other kids due to a problem that he caused. Blue pixels would surround and disfigure her; it didn’t even have to take a sudden movement. It would only worsen with each negative thing she heard.

It was in character that he never bothered to yell at the other racers to stop. He just stood there waiting for them to get tired of their own jokes, leaving this “mistake” sinking into herself. Otherwise capturing eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Now it was the perfect time for him to be the gentleman and offer to take her in, after having wanting to be rid of her twice.

I wish I could understand Vanellope’s deep confusion of the situation.

 

“Thour Bill!”

“Huh?” Yet another garment was tossed into my face before a flash of red light shone through the material.

The bathroom was a forbidden area for me, so I stayed at the bedroom door leaving him be. I know that this silence won’t last for long.

“She’s tho..” He trails off and I roll my eyes. I know what he’s going to say and frankly I’m getting tired of it. 

Sometimes I wonder how he would have been if his master plan was a “succesth”. He probably would be less on-edge, grating his teeth with his hands in a death grip on that dreaded cane. The cheery disposition in front of the citizens of Sugar Rush would have been more genuine. As far as I’m concerned his character is a joke—an act carried extremely well in front of prying eyes. A wonderful performer I have to say.

He’ll be openly aggressive to the “glitch” one minute and, once privacy is granted, he could either get worse or do a complete 180˚, offering her whatever she wished so long as it wasn’t about racing.

That was the major issue and Vanellope would bring it up constantly out of spite. Any retorts she got in return were brushed off like they were nothing. “I’ve heard worse from Taffyta.” 

Maybe she got a kick out of seeing him frustrated—he in a cross between wanting to strangle her with her own sweater collar and… pulling her in for a kiss.

 

Yes, I know how strange that sounded.

 

It wasn’t always this way. She was nothing more than a nuisance to him from what I could gather. Vanellope used to be a “necessary evil” that he somehow felt responsible for looking after—meaning I would have to do most of the work. Her efforts at getting me to talk past five words while I tended to her (preparing changes of clothes, brushing her smooth but thick and difficult candy-coated hair, etc.) were in vain. I knew she was bored and desperate to enjoy herself within castle grounds, and a bit somber. Longing for a friend. 

I swear I wasn’t trying to be mean, but I just didn’t know what to say. Without thinking about it I could reveal to her that she wasn’t a glitch but a real racer. And I didn’t want to think about the king’s reaction to that.

Time passed, and I started to notice a softer side to King Candy. He would give tiny hesitant pats on her head to tell her “good morning, dearest” and “thee you later” before heading off to do his work as the leader. She wouldn’t say much and would continue eating her breakfast with a questioning look as he left. When a day of racing was over I would be at the main entrance to greet him. At some point his choice of a topic shifted from his passion of racing and winning to wanting to know the whereabouts of the girl. Vanellope never just stayed in her room; rather she wandered around aimlessly. I couldn’t be with her the whole time since I had other chores to do. She had even discovered the dungeon area with a bizarre name. I remember having to pull her out of there once I thought her interest was quenched.

“Oh.. You’re so boring, Sour Bill.”

 

I overheard the man comment on their shoddy relationship once while he was getting ready for the day ahead, and how he wanted them to be at least a bit closer. At that point I didn’t think about anything serious, but he sure looked devastated when his wish was trampled on by her response, “ _Candy_. You don’t honestly believe that we can be best buds, _do ya?_ ”

Her respect for him as a person was extremely low, and she had made it apparent from the first day she lived here. Her trust levels were also close to nothing; I don’t blame her given her initial treatment. After the king told his confidante, me, the sad news of her rejection, I began to realize that his platonic manner about her had grown into… something more.

 

Once in a while, I’ll catch him gazing at the girl who was oblivious to his feelings, far off and hidden. He has the trademark dreamy far off look and the little sigh that rises to the surface from a failure of breathing as one should. His cheeks glow with an unsettling shade of red, and again I have to ask…

It wouldn’t have been so disturbing if Vanellope was a woman instead of a child. Then I would have offered to help get them together for the sole purpose of restoring peace to the castle grounds.

I’d be lying by claiming that I never felt sorry for him, but he did cross a line once he brought up his marriage wish. My minimal effort to stop him from rambling, with reasoning, was easily crushed.

“Shut up, Thour Bill.”

I was commenting on his much older age. To me it was obvious this particular wish could never be granted. At least, not without coaxing or even force.

 

There was one day that confused me. King Candy got up very early and was in the dining hall, pacing around and stopping now and again, fist at mouth, pensive. He was already dressed, minus whatever made him look like royalty with the exception of his crown. Although he was nervous, he managed to smile at me.

“Is there.. Something wrong, Sire?”

“Huh?” As if he just noticed, “Oh—I’m going to be spending the day with Vanellope.”

I give him a deader look than usual, “What about the races?”

“It can wait;” Arranging his shirt collar, “theresth a holiday for the players today and tomorrow I heard; no ‘rush’, hoo hoo.”

Not seeing how this would work, I just stare at him. “What?” He gets defensive. “I’ve told the others that I’m not feeling well today. If they’re that desperate I can get Wynchel and Duncan to host them.”

I’m getting a migraine.

“Look.” He tries to distract us from the important topic with a box on the table. He brings it down to my level and opens it hoping I’d react positively. A pastel green dress, long but upon inspection would be showing a lot of skin in the back. I frown in plain sight.

“What now??” Covering up my blunder, “The shoes for it?” They’re flats covered with the same fabric as the ribbon on the waistline.

“Well?” 

Well what?

With an impatient huff, “Take them to her!”

 

I had never seen the girl in a dress before. I have to admit that it fit her petite figure perfectly. When he sees her slowly walking down the hallway, insecure, something in him couldn’t wait and made him approach her, “Vanellope.”

“Hm?”

“You..” Look good.

There’s a strange silence between those two and it comes to mind that there’s something I haven’t observed.

They live in their own isolated world for the rest of the day. Barely speaking, save for the occasional complaint and snide remark in response. I don’t even know if they saw me in the instances I would ignore chores to, for lack of a better word, spy on them as they roamed the sprawling hallways. 

The “couple” spent a lot of time in the garden after their quiet meal. The king’s affections towards her were becoming more apparent, from prolonged hand holding to caressing her face. The oddest thing was that she never backed away or yelled in shock, and I wonder if her perception matched his or if she was only viewing it innocently. It makes a lot more sense.

 

I could see the girl losing it after asking a redundant question only to get the same answer as before. The king pulled her in for a dance with music provided by a licorice record. I kept at a safe distance behind a pillar. It was unbearably awkward, with unnecessary jokes on her small size, until he synched their movements. They then were graceful and a connection was being formed. Vanellope kept on pursing her lips; Candy held her close and gave the impression that this was a courtship ritual. 

A smile formed on his lips as he dipped her, “Well done dearest. You dance as if you _were_ a real princesth!” 

His eyes were laughing but I don’t believe he noticed it.

“.. I wish I was.”

They stop dancing. The melody in the background begins to die off.

“If I was one, I’d have power to—!” Right there, the man gripped her hands, uneasy.

“You’re not making any sensth dear—

“Stop calling me that!”

That sudden outburst caught me and the king off guard. I gasp and hide away, and now I just hear them.

“Vanellope—!”

“There’s nothing I can do here!”

“Theresth plenty—

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t here, Candy!”

_Sometimes?_

A heavy silence before an incensed laugh, “Oh, tho you _want_ to be alone?”

“I want! You know exactly what I want but you won’t give it to me.”

Sneaking a peek, both are looking distraught.

“I’ve told you a hundred times.” Gripping at her shoulders firmly, “No.”

“And I’ll ask _again_ , why?”

“Vanellope. _Never_ ask me again. You will never drive on that track for as long as you exist in this game.”

There was a hurt look in his eyes as he said it, and she reflected it twofold with a gulping down of gushing emotion before wrenching herself away and stomping off.

Their evening was wrecked.

Creeping out of my hiding space, I merely stated, “It’s getting late.”

Glaring at no one, Candy makes fists and sulks off in defeat. When he’s gone I scuttle over to where the girl is on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.

“Vanellope?”

She quirks a brow, a bit surprised I’d start a conversation of any kind with her. I continue with my eyes cast downward, “Do you, really want to leave?”

I look up to see her current mood; she seemed to be stable now. Her frown melts, and a strange thing happens once her eyes make direct contact with mine. With the dress she’s wearing I suddenly imagine a tiara on top of her head. When she bows down low to speak I watch her doing a curtsy. King Candy’s fantasies have finally made me hallucinate.

“I’m not going to leave, Sour Bill. Where would I go?”

My mind can’t think of an answer, but I smile however lightly when she gives me a rather sad one.

Then, I leave her alone.

 

“Thour Bill, she’s gone! Haven’t you theen her?!” Dressed in full attire again, as if to elevate his humbled status.

“Yes.”

“Wh—Where is she??” He looks worried beyond belief; her discarded dress is hanging on his sleeve. I thought that Vanellope was in the same area; Candy would have seen her by now.

“I..” 

I don’t know.

 

. . . . .

 

I heard a shriek before sound in general died off. I hold onto the duster and begin cleaning around the area, focusing in on a small frame on the table right outside the closed door. Failing to imagine what could possibly be going on—not that I wanted to—I just go numb. 

If I were humanlike, taller, and given able limbs, I would have tried to defend her. Even if it meant having to harm him. I’d have hell to pay, but I wouldn’t be stuck with this guilt that only swells over time. 

 

What followed was the deterioration of his self. When she was banished from the kingdom, for whatever noble intentions, King Candy ceased caring about his appearance. He stopped tucking in his shirt and constantly forgot to apply eye shadow, which he used to cake himself with. He traded in his coat and crown for something a little less regal. The hair kept nearly the same; it became increasingly free flowing. Well after what felt like months, his depression gave way to disconnection. His laughs increased, even when livid, as if they were self therapeutic.

He focused a lot more on being King and a racer, what he describes as his “true calling”. Even as he improved, this was all just a distraction from her.

Now that she’s back, all the supports of his building have collapsed. He’s falling head over heels for her like before, but now wary about the intruders in his kingdom.

I watch him now in a downward spiral. For the little time we’ve known of her continuing existence I can see the flames rise again—conflicted between playing out the threat he made and fulfilling the unrequited “love” he had for her. I’m watching him, hearing him break into laughter as he thinks aloud only in front of me. Needing her to be captured; we both know why. His head pounding, he nearly pulls out the little hair he has.

“She _cannot_ race, Thour Bill.” Biting a couple of his fingers as his other clammy hand clenches around the cane, “I’ll lose her!”

“How??”

“Shut up!”

 

I have a mental image of him being slapped in the face to try calming him down. Knowing I’d never have the gaul to try that sort of thing, I just stand there as he endures yet another breakdown. I did feel an impulse to help him, but all I had at my disposal were words. An embrace was definitely out of the question. When he stops talking to himself incoherently, I took the chance and approached him.

 

“Have.” Pausing. “Have you ever thought of the possibility, that…”

King Candy just stares at me with a dumbfounded look, waiting.

“You’re not in love with her?” 

His shoulders tense up dangerously. “That.. you just want—

“ _What?_ ”

I breathe shakily, trying to come up with the most accurate term, “Control.”

Unexpectedly, his shoulders relax. He gives an answer, “Maybe you’re right, Thour Bill.”

He says it so calmly; it makes my outer shell quake with fear.

“Or maybe you’re _wrong_. Either way,” Rose colored eyes going dark, piercing daggers into me, “I have never felt thisth for anyone before.”

He continues, “Don’t you believe that I can feel lonely?”

I’m feeling very uncomfortable, but his leering gaze traps me on the spot.

“That girl is mine. I won’t let anyone tear her away from me.”

 

I don’t get it. I’m losing him.

Now he’s very close.

 

“And you, Thour Bill, will not—!”

He fails to finish his sentence when he strikes me as a warning.


End file.
